Not A Date
by RainThestral93
Summary: Oliver knows it's wrong. But he can't help it - the way she makes his stomach turn somersaults, how she counters his every remark with her witty putdowns. He likes her gusto, her intellect, her individuality. But no matter how much you like someone, that doesn't make it right. Perhaps Hermione Granger's already one step ahead of him... one thing's for sure - it's "not a date".


**Not a Date**

Have you ever had that feeling where you feel like you're being watched? Where you can feel somebody – you don't know who – bore into your skin with their eyes, feeling your skin tingle? Well that was the feeling that Hermione Granger was currently experiencing, from where she sat in the library. She struggled to concentrate on the pages of her novel, finding herself re-reading the same sentence over and over again.

Finally, the intruder into her peace made his presence known, clearing his throat as he sat down across from the Gryffindor book worm. Oliver Wood didn't know what it was about Hermione Granger, but he found her intriguing.

"Hey, Hermione," Oliver Wood grinned, his trademark smile spreading across his face. Hermione looked up, clearly miffed to be interrupted. She raised an eyebrow pointedly, and at her action, the Quidditch Captain found his stomach twist. It had been churning all morning in fact – and it had been Fred and George's suggestion that he was coming down with something. But he didn't think that was it; instead, Oliver had self-diagnosed himself with a serious case of the butterflies.

Butterflies, whilst not actually an medical term, described a feeling of nervousness. Apprehension, even. Gryffindor had won all their matches of late, so it wasn't as if the Quidditch player was worried about that, he mused to himself as he had wandered down the corridors of Hogwarts, slowing as he reached the library. It had to be something else.

Oliver couldn't for the life of him work out what it was that had drawn him into the library – for he wasn't the type of student you would usually associate with shelves of books and people whispering in hushed tones. He belonged outdoors, in the open air on a broom; where he could make as much noise as he liked. This was probably why Madame Pince, the librarian shot him such a suspicious look from over the top of her glasses, as he stealthily stalked between the shelves, looking for her.

He'd finally realised, when he'd caught sight of the bushy haired Hermione Granger reading a book, desperately trying to find her mouth with a bit of toast, too engrossed in her latest book to look at it. He'd found the sight comical, yes, but also strangely endearing. That had been the point when Oliver Wood had realised he fancied Hermione Granger, of all people. He sighed to himself – the amount of endless teasing he would receive from Fred and George and Lee if they knew. But he didn't care; he just couldn't help himself.

"What do you want?" Her tone was curt, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. In the seven years that Hermione had been at Hogwarts, she'd filled out, tidied herself up about the edges. Her once unmanageable curls were now slightly less unruly – but still mussed up and frizzy at the same time. She had a nice figure, too, Oliver had noticed – even though he hadn't meant to be looking.

"That's no way to talk to a Professor, Hermione," Oliver Wood chided the young witch, only half joking. After all, he was a good seven years her senior.

"As far as I'm concerned, flying teacher isn't a Profession," she sniffed, putting her head back inside her book.

"I'd be careful what you say, Hermione," Wood grinned, "I might report you to Professor McGonagall."

"You wouldn't dare," she remarked pointedly, looking back over the top of her book.

"Nah," Oliver laughed, "Right as usual."

"So what brings you to the library?" She asked conversationally, smirking as she added, "I wasn't aware you needed to plan Flying lessons."

"You don't, really," he admitted sheepishly, "But don't knock it. I get paid a fair bit, you know."

"Mhmm," Hermione nodded, seemingly unimpressed. "So why are you here?"

"Well I thought I'd pop in a say hi for a start," he admitted sheepishly, fully aware that he was doing his uttermost best to flirt with a student; which was entirely inappropriate, he thought to himself, and yet he didn't care in the slightest.

"Well hi," Hermione remarked drolly, inwardly amused.

"Ha, ha, ha," Oliver countered sarcastically. Inwardly, he was sighing. He'd never felt this way before – not even about Katie Bell, who he'd fancied for the majority of his school life.

Hermione was different. Unique. She piqued his interest; lit a spark that no matter how hard he tried to douse it, he couldn't get rid of it. But Oliver Wood was a realist. He knew that there was no way they could ever be together. At least, not until Hermione graduated. A teacher-student relationship – even if Hermione actually wanted one – was explicitly forbidden. He at least had the sense to know and respect that.

"D'you want to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Hermione asked, out of the blue, her chocolate orbs shining brightly as she registered the confusion, and then happiness that crossed the teacher's face.

Oliver was caught off guard. Never in a million years had he anticipated Hermione asking him out. Was this a date? Would he seem too eager if he said yes? Every coherent thought he'd ever had seemed to escape his mind in that one moment. He had always imagined finally asking her to go out with him – but the way he'd envisaged it had been once she was out of school, and not sat across a table in the library, whilst she was wearing school uniform. He shook his head – thinking about Hermione in school uniform was something which he had told himself he wouldn't do. At least not in her presence, he thought darkly to herself, supressing a fantasy of his.

"Err," was the only sound that managed to escape his mouth, and he ran a hand through his brown tousled hair.

"If you don't want to," she added coolly, "That's fine. I mean you're probably not allowed to go with students, are you?"

"Nah," Oliver hurried, "That sounds great. I'd just have to clear it with McGonagall first. Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea, do we?"

Hermione laughed lightly, a pleasant sound, thought Oliver. "Exactly. I'm sure McGonagall will understand that we're just friends."

"Right," added Oliver, feeling like Hermione had just punched him in the gut with the weight of her words. "Just friends, yeah."

She smiled up at him innocently with her wide chocolate orbs, not realising his disgruntlement. "Sorry, but if you really don't mind, I've got to finish this for Transfiguration next period," she held the book in her hands aloft, and Oliver nodded, awkwardly getting to his feet.

"Sure," He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his robes, fumbling nervously with a whistle. "I'll talk to McGonagall then."

"Sound good," she smiled fondly up at him, before returning her nose to her book. "Saturday at nine, yes?"

"It's a date," Oliver grinned, immediately wincing at his choice of words.

She raised an eyebrow from her book once more. "No," she smirked, "It's not."

"Right," he corrected, "Not a date, got it." And he backed out of the library as hastily as he possibly could.

Hermione smiled secretively to herself into the pages of the tome in her hands, knowing full well the effect she had on Oliver Wood's heart rate whenever the two of them were in close proximity. She had known he had been dying to ask her to Hogsmeade for months now – and sensing his apprehension, done the dirty work for him. Laughing to herself, she shook her head, amused at how cowardly men could be sometimes.


End file.
